Lake of the Isles
by ahurston
Summary: Edward is a taxi driver and graduate student in Minneapolis working on an interesting social psychology master's thesis. Bella is his first passenger who genuinely interests him. AH.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: New story- any and all feedback is appreciated. Thanks so much for reading. (And of course, I don't own Twilight.)**

**Thursday- EPOV **

The girl climbed into the cab, slamming the door roughly.

"Hennepin and 26th, please," she murmured to me.

I nodded, slowly easing off the break. I pulled into the stream of cars surrounding the busy intersection, easing between a tour bus and the blurry river of headlights. I subtly glanced into the rearview mirror at my passenger. Dark hair, dark clothes, tear-streaked cheeks. Backpack with a UM patch. I hoped she wasn't a talker- it had been a long day. I could live without another freshman spilling the deepest tragedies of midterms or rush week. She didn't really look like that kind of girl, but then again, it was hard to tell. She swiped a hand under her eyes, staring at the floor. Confident that she wasn't looking for a trappable outlet for whatever was causing those tears, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Would you mind if I turn on the radio? It might talk about a while to get over there this time of night," I asked, trying to be polite.

The girl gave a weak smile in response, shrugging. Pretty sure that that was probably the most enthusiastic response I was going to get, I cranked the ancient dial to my favorite station, tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel in time with the classic swooning jazz. I glanced back in the mirror. The girl was still hiding behind her too-long bangs, occasionally rubbing her eyes. I found myself wanting to initiate a conversation with her, but that was strictly against my rules. So I didn't. Anyway, she was clearly uninterested.

I refocused on the road. The highway route I had taken had proven erratic and busy- post-2:00 AM driving in this town usually was. As if right on cue, an oversized pickup swerved in front of the car.

"Shit!" I yelled, honking the horn twice before veering slightly to avoid a collision.

"I'm sorry for swearing, ma'am. I was just surprised," I explained, embarrassed for breaking another one of the carefully constructed protocol I had established for this job.

Another weak smile. "It's fine; I don't care," the girl muttered, staring out the window. I did, though. I didn't swear in the cab. Everywhere else, yes, and in my head, but not in the cab.

I spent the rest of the trip trying to ignore the small sniffles and sighs of my passenger. I was failing miserably. Something about this girl definitely didn't scream "teen angst" to me. I was intrigued. Just as I had decided to actually ask her a question, I realized the intersection she had requested was quickly approaching. I pulled up to the curb.

"That'll be $19.35, please," I said.

She was already handing me a twenty and a couple of ones.

With a hurried "Thanks," she was out the door. Not quite ready to just let her leave yet, I quickly rolled down his window to say something to her.

"Hey, wait!" I called out the window. The girl turned back towards the car, eyebrow arched. I realized I didn't have anything to say. Shit. I scrambled for something, anything. "I wanted to give you my card, just in case you need a ride home or something- I'm working all night."

She stepped cautiously back toward the car window, snatching the proffered card from my hand. It read, "Edward Cullen, Blue and White Taxi, (612) 333-3333."

"Um, thanks." She didn't look like she was planning to call.

She didn't.

* * *

**Friday**

I scrubbed my face in the icy cold water of the cheap apartment sink. I had paid good money to get a place far away from campus in a quiet neighborhood- I had had more than enough of late night drunk-dialers perched outside my building leaving incoherent messages in the voicemail boxes of their friends. Instead, I had a tiny studio apartment in St. Louis Park above a bookstore that was only open one day a week. Silence.

My shift had finished up just as the sun started to come up. I'd immediately collapsed into bed, sure I was going to pass out instantly, only to be awoken nearly every hour with dreams about a certain crying, dark-haired girl. My subconscious had replayed the car ride over and over, tweaking details here and there. Driving me fucking crazy. Finally, at noon, I gave up on sleep, stumbling out of bed.

Eyes bloodshot and heavy-bagged, I looked almost frightening when I checked my appearance in the bathroom mirror. Maybe I even looked frightening enough to get those damn freshman in the discussion section I led to stop texting while I was trying to lecture. One could only dream. The texting though- so fucking annoying. As if I couldn't see them, with their little jewel-encrusted phones under the desks, typing away noisily. So obvious. It was insulting how little effort they put into trying to conceal it.

No time for breakfast, and no time to pack a lunch. I grabbed an apple and my thermos of tea and headed out the door. I flipped through my notes for today's class while waiting for the city bus. My fellow waiters began to vibrate with impatient energy when the bus was two, three, four minutes late. As a temporary member of the public transit industry, I had plenty of patience for this sort of thing. There were about a billion things that could go wrong between the garage and this bus stop- plenty to justify running four minutes late. A stocky, no-neck man in full business attire began to tap his foot and sigh heavily in irritation. Ridiculous. Take your damn car, man.

The bus pulled up to the stop. The harried driver, a middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair, cranked open the door. She stared straight ahead to avoid the disdainful looks of her boarding passengers.

"Hey, Mary," I greeted her. She was always the driver for this route- how the other passengers justified not greeting the person who picked them up every single day was beyond me.

"Oh, hi Edward. How are you?" she answered, surprised. The person in line behind me coughed, urging me tacitly to move along. Dear God.

Intent on irritating the bastard further, I stalled.

"I'm fine, Mary. Thanks for asking. Nice weather today, yeah?"

She nodded, glancing behind me nervously, clearly uncomfortable. The Cougher cleared his throat. Loudly. Not wanting to be responsible for the man having an aneurism, and definitely wanting to avoid getting Mary in trouble, I gave her a final smile and headed down the aisle. Just a few seats left. One next to a very miserable, very pregnant woman and one next to…ah. I'd found my target. College-aged guy in a white baseball cap, oversized book bag in the seat next to him, guaranteeing, or so he thought, that he wouldn't have to share the space with another breathing person. Tough luck.

I spent the bus ride comfortably reading an assigned text for class, semi-sadistically enjoying the way my neighbor appeared to be trying to force himself through the glass to avoid actual knee-on-knee contact with me.

Once on campus, I navigated the throng of students to get to the building where the class I was TA-ing was held, weaving through them quickly to make it on time. Suffice it to say, it wasn't a stellar lesson. I was impatient and distracted, fatigued from the shitty night of sleep.

"I'm sorry, everyone, if today has been a little nonsensical- if you have any questions about cognitive dissonance, please come see me during my office hours or shoot me an email; I'd be happy to help you out," I offered, embarrassed. I could feel my face heating up. Why didn't I ever get over that, the blushing? What well-educated, non-virgin, twenty-six year old _blushes_?

The students noisily packed up their bags and left the room, eyes straight ahead. Zombies or sheep, take your pick. While I was certainly grateful for the hefty tuition discount and salary this position provided, the institutional monotony of "Introduction to Cognitive Psychology" every semester for the last three years was threatening to dash any remaining lofty notions about the virtues of a college education I had.

On the bus ride to the garage where the cabs were kept, I ate my rather pathetic excuse for a brown bag lunch that I'd hastily packed before I left this morning. Slightly mealy apple, cheap granola bar, and a thermos of now-cold tea- not enough food to last for an eight hour shift. God, I missed Esme. Meatloaf and tetrazinni and scalloped potatoes and I'm practically drooling. I started up the creaky car, turning the radio to the college jazz station. The afternoon passed quickly- the daylight crowd was significantly tamer than the midnight, bar hopping variety. Given the lack of sleep and level of distraction today, I was thankful.

One hour left to go. Then, approaching midnight, I found himself taking more calls from campus, unconsciously hoping that out of tens of thousands of students, one particular girl would happen to need another ride today.

Huh. Given the reason I chose this job, getting strangely, and immediately, attached to silent passengers was not expected. Or desired. I turned the car in the opposite direction, towards Saint Paul, taking a call on the other end of town.

* * *

**A Week Later**

I steered clear of campus cab calls for the next week, sticking to the busy business districts instead. The tips were better, and I didn't have to endure the embarrassment whenever I found himself disappointed every time someone wanting to be picked up near University and 15th turned out, inevitably, not to be _her_.

Last run of a busy night. 1:00 A.M. As the car idled, I decided to take whatever call came through. Campus origin. Shit. Well, my car _is_ already pointed in this direction. I headed toward the address, trying not to let my mind go _there_, to the place where I finally got the girl's name, heard her life story, and could move on from this weird obsession. Pulling up to the corner, I peered into the dark, trying to make out the face of the girl standing under a bus shelter, waiting to be picked up. She held an oversized raincoat over her head while running to the car, but it was pointless. She already looked like a drowned cat, her long, loosely hanging hair coiled into thick ropes and her baggy clothes sticking to her diminutive body.

"Hennepin and 26th, please."

I nodded, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. I tried not to stare into the rear view mirror, but I was sure the voice was the same. Her hair was short now, almost boyish, but the voice was the same. I glanced into the mirror, reflexively.

"How'd you get home, that night?" I asked, immediately regretting it. This girl probably, no, certainly, had no recollection of ever meeting me. Shit.

The girl looked startled. "What do you mean?"

Great, now I'd scared her.

"Um, I picked you up? About a week ago?" Nothing- she still looked confused. "I think it was the same destination too- near Lake of the Isles?" Still nothing. "I gave you my card, so you could get a ride home?" Stop, stop, stop. Could I sound creepier? All I needed was a greasy mustache and protruding chest hair to complete the stalker image. Then comprehension dawned on her face.

"Oh, right- wow, you remember me? Good memory." She replied, smirking slightly.

"Of course I do." Shit. Of course I remember you, total stranger who I gave a ride to over a week ago. "I have a good memory for faces," I added. Because that helps.

I spent the rest of the drive in nervous quiet, nearly biting my tongue from all the things I wanted to ask her. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to start ranting about her out-of-state boyfriend's lack of support for her choice to drop out of school to pursue a career in pole dancing. Or something.

I pulled up to the corner.

"Twenty-one fif-"

She was practically throwing a twenty and a five at me.

"Thanks for the ride, again," she said quickly, already opening the door.

"Sure, no problem. Be safe." _Be safe!?_ Where has my verbal filter gone? So now I'm her creepy, stalker, _dad_?

To my surprise, she actually smiled at this. Not a mocking smile, either, a real one. A damn cute real one.

I kept the car idling for a few moments after she left the cab, trying to come up with a valid reason for stalling besides wanting to see which direction she was headed. So creepy. Like, call-the-police creepy. She was headed away from the busy street, toward the lake. Why oh why, pretty, rain-soaked girl, do you have to be headed toward the isolated lake? Now I'm going to have to worry about you all night. Fuck.

That's the second night of sleep you've stolen from me.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Don't own Twilight, or these characters. The plot of this story, however, is mine. Just a heads up, there is a potentially upsetting reference in this chapter**. **Reviews would be great and are much appreciated- thanks for reading.**

**Chapter 2**

**Friday Night**

Alice was over.

"Edward, did you know your cottage cheese is three weeks expired?" she called from the kitchen.

"Thank you for letting me know, pumpkin. Now get the hell out of my refrigerator, Ali," I replied, mostly kidding.

A weekend night grading exam essays and watching reruns of the X Files- this was the routine. Alice and I had started doing this about a year ago, to stay sane. A person could only read regurgitated excuses for original work so many times before alcohol and 90s TV became a necessity. I was getting very little done- I loved this episode.

"Do you want some tea to go with that beer, Edward? Looks like you've got Earl Grey, some girly, peach herbal junk, and…." Alice called.

"Peachy junk sounds great, Alice, but I'm good with the beer. You just make yourself at home in my kitchen. And thank you for mocking my pantry." This was how it had been for over two years now- Alice and me. A near-symbiotic relationship.

"You know you adore me," she said, peeking her head around the corner, a mug of said-girly tea in hand.

Alice had become my other half since I had met her. Though we never talked about it, the friendship was also one of the primary reasons why neither of us could hold down a serious romantic relationship- it wasn't hard to understand why. I certainly didn't blame the women who had taken one look at the friendship between Alice and myself and run the other way.

I wasn't bitter though- with Ali, I was rarely, if ever, lonely. This perpetual state of non-loneliness was in sharp contrast to the entire history of my life. After my parents gave up arranging play dates for me in the second grade, I hadn't had a single close friend, not ever. I'd thrown myself into school, then work, then school again, not even feeling the void that true solitude inevitably creates in a person. There had been girls, though not many. None that generated near the amount of introspection and obsession as that fucking mysterious, beautiful, sad girl in my cab.

And then there had been Alice, but that was a story for another time.

"Hello? Are you there?" Alice was waving a hand in front of my face, threatening to spill boiling hot tea all over my lap. That got my attention.

"Yeah, sorry, just spacing out," I answered vaguely.

"Are you alright? Still dreaming about that crying girl?"

I nodded and took another drink of my beer. That was the other great thing about Alice- she never pried. She was meddling as fuck with things like the contents of my refrigerator, but when it came to more personal stuff, like the girl from the cab, she let me have my space.

"And how is that guy from the VA? Jasper, right?" I asked.

Alice was a graduate student too, working on her master's in public health. For a while now, she'd been interning at the Veterans' Hospital on the weekends- where she had met Jasper. She'd told me about him last week. Tragic case, tons of baggage. Alice was a compassionate soul though- show her a homeless puppy or a former soldier with PTSD and she was sold. She knew it couldn't go anywhere- clients were decidedly off-limits to case workers- but here we were. She, trying not to talk about it, and me, trying not to ask.

"He's fine. We, not that there's a 'we,' are fine. It's… I don't know. It's fine," she replied, definitively not answering. I nodded. Good enough.

We got back to watching the show and pretending to grade our papers. Around midnight, Alice packed up her stuff, kissed me maternally on the forehead, and left. I was regretting not sleeping more today- my all-night shift started in an hour, and I was lagging.

* * *

This was a bad idea. I was at the main office for work, about to ask one of the receptionists for a favor that was definitely not within my own pre-established guidelines for this job.

"Hey, um, Maggie? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, sugar. What's up?" Maggie was my favorite- southern, and crazy nice. And she liked me. I'd picked her for a reason. She probably wouldn't report what I was about to ask, or call me out on it. Probably.

"Well, I've been taken a lot of calls from the main campus lately, and I was wondering if you could, well…" I just couldn't spit it out. An awkwardly prolonged pause ensued.

After looking confused for a long moment, comprehension dawned on Maggie's face.

"Honey, is this about a girl?" she asked, a disturbingly knowing smile appearing.

"What?" I replied, stalling.

"You heard me." Again with the smile. "Is there some girl you've picked up that you want to be seeing more of?" she prodded. Dammit.

"Maybe. I've picked her up a couple times, from 26th and University. Both times she seemed like she needed some help, or something. I know I shouldn't be asking you this, but-"

"So don't. I know what you're trying to say. I'll see what I can do, okay?" she said. Thank God. The woman was a saint. I made a mental note to get her some nice flowers on Secretary's Day. I reigned in my enthusiasm a little before I answered.

"Thank you, Maggie. I really appreciate it." There, nice and understated.

"Sure thing- now scoot on out of here. I won't say anything to anybody, 'kay?"

I smiled and nodded at her, turning around and leaving the office before I could give myself away.

I had picked Alice up from work at the VA, and we had headed out to eat at one of my favorite places in the city- a pasta place tucked into my neighborhood. The best goddamn pappardelle in the world. I was in a semi-trance, enjoying my lunch, when Alice had to ask.

"Any word from Rosalie lately, Edward?"

Shit.

"No," I answered, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

"Or your mom?"

"No, Alice," I replied, warning creeping into my voice.

"Have you tried to contact them?"

I took a deep breath. I tried my best never to snap at Alice; I loved her too much for that. She was my best friend- she deserved my never-ending gratitude and patience for simply putting up with me. But this was beginning to cross a line.

"Alice," I began, keeping my voice kind, "I don't want to talk about Rosalie, or Esme."

She looked like she was about to argue with me, but she held back and resumed eating her meal.

I didn't sleep again that night. More fucked-up, cold sweat-inducing dreams of a sad girl. Only this one was blonde.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

"Where to, sir?"

"The Convention Center, please," my passenger answered.

"Sure thing."

I lifted my foot off the break and turned back into traffic, heading toward downtown, away from campus. Maggie hadn't had any luck helping me get the mystery girl back in my cab since I'd asked her about it, but literally every damn time I took a call from anywhere near the university I was sure, just totally sure, that it would be her. I started taking more and more late night shifts, despite how badly it ate into my badly-needed sleep supply. Alice hadn't made the mistake of asking me again about Rosalie or Esme, but just that one conversation was enough to induce those god-awful nightmares more nights than not.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, checking out my passenger. This was my little game, making bets with myself about the tips my customers were likely to give.

_Smile upon getting into the cab, plus a dollar._

I did a little investigating, flipping on my little black voice recorder that I always had on hand to make sure I could check it against my memory of this conversation later.

"Headed to a meeting, sir?"

"Yup, big deal to make in an hour," he answered gruffly, a bead of sweat bravely attempting to slide into the non-existent gap between the tight collar of his shirt and his neck.

_Minus eighty cents for the sweating._

"Oh- are you from out of town, then?" I prodded.

"Yup, Detroit. Really need this to go through, with the fucking economy how it is- I'm sure you know what I mean. All this mess can't be good for your business either," he answered.

_Plus three dollars for sympathy._

"I can't complain- this job helps put me through school, so I'm grateful to have it." I always tried my best to only be honest with these people. Everybody has to wade through so much bullshit on a daily basis, the least I could do was try not to add to it. Still, I couldn't exactly tell people what my field was; it would compromise what I was trying to do.

"School's the place to be right now- stay there as long as you can. Maybe by the time you're out, all of this-" he gestured at the rundown buildings we were passing, "-will have cleared up," he said.

"I sure hope so. So, what's your business?"

"Auto parts. Not exactly the best thing to be selling right now, you know," he replied, grimacing.

_Soon to be out of a job, minus a dollar._

I clicked off the recorder as I pulled up to the specified intersection and the man handed me the fare, plus two bucks and a quarter. I was damn close- a nickel off was good, even for me, and I was pretty good at this.

"Thanks, and good luck at the meeting. I hope it all works out for you," I said as he left, hoping to add to my karma meter with some extra politeness. Sure as hell couldn't hurt.

* * *

**Later That Night**

"Call from 26th and Hennepin, Edward, thought I'd send it your way," Maggie's voice prompted me.

_It wasn't going to be her. _I knew this, logically. But apparently the rest of my brain and body, ungoverned by logic, didn't. I shakily headed toward campus. As I pulled up the corner, I scanned the sidewalk for any evidence of my girl, but she wasn't there. A burly, college-age guy, maybe Native American or something, stepped up to the door and let himself in instead. I swore under my breath for getting my hopes up.

"Take me to some cheap bar, dude, outta this neighborhood. I need to get trashed, like now. Maybe somewhere with dancers, that'd be great."

"Sure thing," I replied, trying to swallow my disappointment that instead of finally getting the girl I so wanted to see again I got _this_ guy. The frat guy, the guy who yells profanity at the girls he drives by and doesn't tip his waiter, or his cab driver. I started driving toward a dive I knew about twenty minutes away. If this guy wanted disease-ridden girls and horrible beer, I knew just the place.

When I looked in the mirror, I could see he was scowling at the floor. Pretty sure that there wasn't any vomit or gum on the seats or the carpet to merit it, I turned on my recorder.

"Something you need to get off your chest, man?" I began. While I didn't really _want _to have a conversation with this man, I needed more of this kind of data for the study.

"No. Other than that my girlfriend is the biggest bitch in the world. She's such a cow, I fucking swear." Somehow I doubted this was true.

"Sorry to hear that," I lied. "Is she the reason you needed to get out tonight?"

"Uh, yeah? Why do you think?"

I hated this guy already.

"So what's wrong with her?" I pried, wanting to get this idiot back on the street as fast as possible but sure that this would add some much needed variety to my records.

"Well, for starters, she just keeps fucking _crying,_ like all the fucking time, says I'm 'insensitive,' or some shit- you know the type."

I gave a non-committal grunt, prompting him to continue his diatribe.

"So tonight's disaster, apparently, was that I told her that her classes in fucking religious studies shit or whatever are ridiculous and she should take something more practical, 'cause she's never going to get a job with that shit. Solid advice, right? But what did she do? She fucking flipped out! Said I was being 'condescending' or something, that I didn't understand her. Like I even could. That girl is insane."

As he seemed to be finished ranting for a moment, I cut in.

"So why are you dating her, then?" I seethed.

He smiled then, a sleazy, malicious grin. I didn't want to hear whatever he was about to sure, I was sure.

"You have to ask, man? The head, no question. She might be the biggest bitch in this city, but when she gets down on her knees, that long hair all around her and shit, I grab her and just-"

"I get it, dude, seriously," I cut him off. I couldn't take this anymore. I veered over to the first bar we passed, gave him his bill, and hurried him out of the car.

Leaving the car running, which I never did, I stumbled out of the car and puked into the nearest garbage can. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I knew I had to call it a night. As much as I wanted to hunt that jackass down and castrate him, I knew I couldn't. Instead of taking the bus home after dropping off the cab, I took the route to Ali's apartment, even though it was almost three in the morning.

Of course, like she always did, Alice knew I was coming. Before I'd even knocked once, she opened up the door and threw her arms around me.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own Twilight, of course. This story, however, is mind. Feedback is much appreciated, and thanks for reading!**

**Chapter 3**

Lucid dreaming. Possibly the best thing on earth, definitely better than my actual waking life. I rarely managed to pull it off; usually I was so exhausted that my subconscious just couldn't manage it, but tonight, it worked. I'd started out in yet another awful flashback dream, but then with a little tampering, I was now watching Dream-Me sit down in a booth in this coffee place near my apartment, Brown Hair Girl scooting in next to me. I normally hated couples who did that- sit next to each other instead of across- but here, in the dream, I was clearly not upset about it. Not upset at all. The two of us were just laughing, her hand on my knee and mine in her long hair.

The best dream I'd had in months.

"Edward, Edward- honey, you've gotta get up. Your class is in an hour."

Somebody was pinching me. What the fuck, why would somebody be pinching me?

"Edddddddward….I've got blueberry pancakes. And I think your ass is on my cell phone, so please get up."

Oh right. I'd fallen asleep on Alice's couch last night. Even though said "couch" was only five feet long, way too short for my body, Alice had apparently tucked me in, complete with feather pillows and her grandma's quilt, so the idea of actually getting up sounded horrible. But, I could smell the pancakes. Alice made the best pancakes in the world. I swung my feet to the floor and headed for the kitchen.

Alice had outdone herself. She was squeezing oranges for fresh juice, and she'd even made the blueberries form little, lopsided smiley faces on each pancake on my plate. Because apparently I was four years old.

"You didn't have to do all this- it was great of you just to let me crash here," I offered, embarrassed by all the overt kindness.

"I know I didn't have to- I wanted to. You've seemed… better lately. But then last night, you just, you know. I needed to make you ridiculous pancakes. That's what I do."

"I love you, Alice. Thank you for this." I took a bite. "Your emotional stunted-ness is delicious."

She huffed and set a glass of juice next to my plate, sloshing a little onto her laminated Chinese Zodiac placemats.

"So. How are you feeling this morning?" she asked after sitting down next to me, her hands forming a bridge under her chin.

"Fine. Better. It was such a small thing, relatively- I don't know why I freaked out so badly. I still want to kill the asshole, but really? Stuff like that happens all the time. I need to grow thicker skin."

"No you don't. Caring too much and freaking out is who you are," she replied. "Do you want me to tag along with you to work tonight?"

Alice occasionally rode along in the front of the cab with me on slow weeknights, even though it was a little against the rules. It was always nice having company, but right now, when I was still on the search for my girl…

"That's okay- I really appreciate it, but-" I answered, not knowing how to finish.

She didn't answer, smiling a secretive little smile instead, obviously understanding.

I dug into my pancakes, and Alice opened up the newspaper to the horoscope section. We were a regular American family.

* * *

**Later That Day**

After half-assing my way through my morning classes, I settled into my desk in the claustrophobic office I shared with four other psychology TAs to go over my most recent recordings. My desk was cluttered with a montage of plants and scraps of paper, making me look more like a disorganized biologist than a social psychology student. Each piece of paper, a combination of crumpled napkins and legal pad pages, was covered with notes, either for discussion sections I was leading or superfluous information about the anonymous passengers I carried, too subtle to be documented with a tape recorder.

As for the plants, they were all gifts from Alice. She'd gone on a kick a few months back about the benefits of keeping living things in otherwise lifeless areas, such as this office. And thus, my desk had turned into an impromptu and poorly lit greenhouse. Call it an overactive guilt complex, but I couldn't stop taking care of them and watch them die, or face throwing them away. Either option seemed an affront to Alice's kindness, and I couldn't stand the idea of her coming to visit me here someday and seeing her gifts dead or vanished.

After watering all the plants and even pouring on some of that long-acting fertilizer Ali had included with her most recent delivery, I found the tape for the auto parts guy and got to work. He had been completely painless to talk to. I started transcribing the conversation, phonetically recording every "um" and noting every prolonged pause. The whole process was painstaking, but recording the cases was satisfying. The whole task took about two hours, so I got up to make a pot of coffee before getting back to work.

I was about to push the next tape into the player when I noticed the date and time I'd scrawled in barely-legible script on the side. Last night. Late.

Shit.

How had I already forgotten?

My hands began shaking and without thinking, I grabbed the tape and threw it against the wall as hard as I could. It split into several satisfying pieces, the ribbons of tape unraveling on the dirty carpet. Abandoning the pot of coffee and the broken tape, I stormed out of the office.

I killed time for a few more hours until I could start my shift. I drove faster and spoke less to my customers than normal, taking out my resurgence of anger on the gas pedal and the other drivers who were unfortunate enough to cut me off, fail to use a turn signal, or need to switch lanes. Some passengers tipped generously, grateful for how wickedly fast I got them to their destinations, while others quickly handed me the exact total, in cash, and jumped out of the cab as speedily as possible, grateful not to be dead.

About one thirty in the morning, I got another call from Maggie. Same location as last night. The sweating started up again, only worse, because now the anxiety was compounded by two dueling fears- one, that it would be that sick fuck again, or two, that it would be _her_. I didn't even consider the most likely option, that it might be neither of them. Taking several deep breaths, I took the pickup and headed toward downtown, ready for a vicious disappointment.

I leaned over the steering wheel as I approached the intersection, trying, and failing, to get a preview of who the pickup could be. But it was closing time, and the corner was packed with people leaving the bar across the street, stumbling home.

I idled at the corner, saying a hasty prayer to a misty deity I didn't believe in that it would be her. I still had my eyes closed when I heard a tap at the window. I looked up and into a pair of big brown eyes, set in such a pretty face. My mystery girl.

"Um, I just called for a ride from this location about fifteen minutes ago, are you it?" she asked hesitantly.

"Uh, yeah, climb on in," I answered, stammering a little. My fingers reflexively reached toward the recorder, but I didn't turn it on. Somehow, even though this girl was as nameless as everyone else whose confessions I documented, it didn't seem right.

"Well hi again, stranger," she said with a little smile once she'd settled into the back seat.

"Hi to you too. So where am I taking you?" I managed to get out, trying to hide how ridiculously happy I was that she was finally here in my car.

"The same place again- the lake." She replied.

I headed toward uptown, desperate to say something, anything, but I'd completely run out of words. As I was berating myself for wasting my crazy-valuable time with this girl, potentially the only time I'd ever see her again, she asked, "So, Edward, what's your story?"

I was startled, and said the first thing that came to mind, "You remembered my name."

She smirked. "You know, I could've just read it off your badge there. Sorry to burst your bubble."

"No bubbles were burst. But I think you remembered," I hedged, trying to smother my pride, which insisted that she had, in fact, remembered.

No answer, but there's that smirk again. "You didn't answer my question," she replied.

"What's my story? That's a little broad, don't you think?" I stalled, trying to get her to keep talking. She had such a nice voice, low and quiet, very sexy.

"Hmm, well, how about overall. General terms, I mean. How about…one word and an explanation. Go."

I paused before blurting out, "Excess."

"'Excess?' That's a good story. An excess of what?" she pried. I internally gloated that she seemed at all interested.

"Caffeine, books, and isolation, pretty much," I answered. What about you, mystery girl?"

"I'm not a mystery- I'm just Bella. It's nice to formally meet you." She stuck her tiny hand between the front seats, and I reached behind to shake it.

"Well Just-Bella, what's your one-word description of your life story?"

I looked at her in the rear view mirror again, hoping to catch another smile, but her face had darkened.

I was about to tell her she didn't have to answer when she spoke up.

"Not to be melodramatic, but I think just 'unhealthy' would sum it up pretty well."

"Huh, you look okay to me," I answered, "Care to explain?"

"Not really."

"Oh, alright." I backed off, trying to pay attention to the road again. To my surprise, we were almost to the Lake of the Isles already.

I'd given up on any more words from my pretty passenger when she spoke up again.

"Unhealthy relationships, pretty much. Parents, boyfriend, friends, everybody. I seem to be a magnet for disastrous people, it seems."

I nodded, not sure if she wanted to explain more.

"I just, it seems like wherever I go, the garbage from all of these people just…shit, I'm sorry. You don't want to hear this stuff," she said, and when I glanced back at her in the mirror, she had turned towards the window, her hair blocking my view of her profile.

"Actually, I don't mind. But whatever you want to say, or not, is fine. No pressure," I assured her. Fuck, I sounded like a therapist. She gave me a thin-lipped smile, then went back to looking out the window.

We'd arrived at the lake. She tried to give me two tens and a five when we pulled up to the stop, but I just kept the five, handing her back the rest.

"You have a good night, Bella," I said, loving the feeling of finally having a name for her. Do you need another card for a ride home tonight?"

She looked dubiously at the bills in her hand, her face hardening slightly. "Nope, but thanks for offering. Are you sure about the money? That five can't even cover gas." She looked a little less unhappy now, but still no smile.

"Don't worry about it. I hope I see you again soon, Bella."

She hesitated, looking a little wary, before she answered. "You too actually, Edward. And I rarely feel that way, about anybody."

With that, she shut the car door and was gone.

I finished up my shift at around four in the morning, and even though I should have gone home to get some sleep before my seminar at noon, I took the bus to the VA hospital where Ali worked. I knew she sometimes took these dead shifts, talking to abandoned people who never slept, like Jasper. Even though she had only really talked about him a handful of times, that was more than she'd ever spoke about anyone else over the few years I'd known her. So he was important. And I was curious.

I signed into the registry, asking one of the nurses where I could find Alice. As the elevator chimed the floors on the way up to the rehabilitation department, I thought about my first real conversation with Bella. It had started out innocuously enough, even slightly flirtatious at first (though I might have been imagining that), but then she just shut down. I resolved to take every single call that came from campus that I could, even if that meant I had to endure that chauvinist dick trying to find the strip bar again and again. I hoped he had been shot last night in the neighborhood I left him, or at the very least, caught a vicious STD.

I found Alice's name on the floor registry, along with a room number, 404, which I assumed was Jasper's. After getting lost in the mazes of taupe-colored hallways for a little while, I found the room. The door was open a crack, so I tried to look in without bothering the occupants.

Immediately, I heard a man's voice, with a lightly honeyed trace of a southern accent, "There's somebody at the door, Miss Alice."

I heard a chair scrape across the floor, and then my friend opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"Edward? What are you doing here?" she asked as she carefully shut the door behind her, puzzlement on her face.

"I just finished up my shift, and I didn't want to head home yet," I explained, then added, "And I might have been wondering a little about this guy you've mentioned. That was him, in that room, wasn't it?"

Alice blushed scarlet, then pulled me away from the door with the force of someone twice her size, down the hallway and into a nondescript lounge, complete with weary Better Home and Garden magazines and a decades-old TV, set to one of the Catholic channels.

She crossed her arms, getting into what I affectionately called her "sassy" mode.

"Yes, that was him. Please go home now, Edward, I'm not supposed to really even be here myself. My job this semester was to interview each of these guys every few weeks about the quality of care they're receiving and what they plan to do after they're released, not sit by the bed of the same man for hours nearly every day, sneaking around in the middle of the night, when there aren't a bunch of nurses around to give me weird looks. I know you're curious, but there's just nothing going on, at least nothing that _should _be. He's just lonely. And so am I."

After she finished her rant, her posture relaxed and her shoulders sagged. I leaned forward to hug her, and I felt her shake a little, like she always did when she was trying not to cry.

"It's okay, Ali, I'm sorry for putting you in a bad position. You're right, I was just curious, I wasn't trying to embarrass you. I've just never known you to show this much interest in anybody, so this guy has to be important. I'm just watching out for you."

She wiped at the tears that hadn't fallen from her eyes yet. "I know that. I'm going to just go say bye, would you wait a sec? Then maybe we can go grab some early breakfast at one of those all-night diners. Sound okay?"

I nodded, and watched her look through the entrance of the lounge into the hallway, checking for the night nurses, I imagined. Seeing none, she slipped across the hall and noiselessly back into room 404. Thirty seconds later, she was back out, and gestured for me to follow her to the stairwell exit.

We discussed our newfound obsessions over the two people we could never have over more pancakes at a diner down the road. Because there can never be too many pancakes.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I sadly don't own Twilight. Reviews are much appreciated**, **and please let me know what you think of Jessica. Thanks for reading!**

**Chapter 4**

**Friday**

A knock on my office door, followed by a bubblegum, babyish voice, attached to possibly the most vacant person I'd ever met. Fucking Jessica.

"Um, Mister Cullen?"

Before I'd even seen her name on my roster of students for the semester, I had heard enough of this girl. For some reason unknown to me, the university had failed to expel her after she blatantly seduced a professor, and then attempted to blackmail him with video footage of the sex for a better grade. Instead of having the girl arrested, she'd been given academic probation, and had plagued the offices of the male faculty ever since. It was rumored that that overgenerous "punishment" was all thanks to her parents- who stepped in and offered to help fill the university's budget shortfall that year, preventing dozens of layoffs.

"Come on in, Jessica," I said, bracing for the inevitable onslaught of stupidity that was surely coming. Then when she was about to shut the door behind her, I added, "And leave the door open, please." A fleeting look of disappointment crossed her face.

Me: 1, Heinous Bitch: 0

I clicked my voice recorder on, just in case. While I doubted anyone would believe anything she ever said again, it was best to play it safe. Jessica had taken to coming to a suspicious numberof my office hours, and I had a feeling she wasn't actually looking to understand theories of connectionism or speech development. I took off my headphones, recording where I'd left off in the recording. For the last several hours, I'd been notating a particularly long and revealing conversation in the cab with a freshly divorced, fishnet stocking-clad, middle aged woman.

My personal highlight of the tape thus far, "I got nothing holdin' me back now, sugar, you got a free hour?"

Dear God. But back to Jessica.

She squeezed herself into the spare chair in my corner of the office, Alice's plants dangling over her shoulder.

"So what can I help you with, Jessica?" I asked, attempting, for the moment, to remain polite and professional.

"Well, Professor, I mean, Mr. Cullen, I mean…Edward?" she began.

"'Mr. Cullen' is fine. So what did you need?" I asked, more curtly this time. I let the other students call me by my first name, but not Jessica. No.

"You see, um, I'm having this _problem_?"

"Yes?" I prodded, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on her beady little ones, focusing on their sort of muddy color, instead of on her ridiculously tight shirt.

"Well, there's this guy, like, next to me, in discussion?"

I nodded.

"He's sort of been, I don't know, staring, I guess?"

In between contemplating jumping out my office window, I was counting how many times this person could end a sentence with a tonal question mark.

"What would you like me to do to resolve the problem, Jessica?"

"Yeah, I was thinking that maybe it would work to move me up to the front of the room, maybe by your desk?"

"And you think that would solve the staring issue," I seethed, biting back everything I really wanted to say.

She nodded, looking eager at the thought that her master plan might actually be working. Gotta nip that in the bud.

"That just won't work," I answered. "I believe I have an allergy, you see, to…." I was grasping at straws, "You." Shit. I backtracked. "Your perfume, that is. It's nothing personal, I just think it would be best to have you remain in your seat. I'll have a conversation with- who was it who was staring?"

She looked crushed. Or as crushed as the spawn of Satan was capable of being.

She sighed dramatically.

"Oh, never mind," She replied in a clipped tone, all sugariness gone. As she got up to leave, she added, in a voice that couldn't be construed as anything other than a threat, "I'll see you in class, _Edward_."

She even slammed my door a little on her way out, causing a little soil from one of the many air-purifying plants to sprinkle onto my desk.

I popped the new tape of my meeting with Jessica out of the recorder, labeled it, and dropped it into a large, unmarked manila envelope filled with a dozen near-duplicates of the same conversation.

* * *

Jessica's latest attempt to ruin me killed my desire to do any more work, so I grabbed my bag and headed for the bus stop. As I waited for my ride, I checked my phone, which I'd turned to silent while I was working. Two missed calls and two voice mails. The first was Alice, which was accompanied by a rambling message about needing a fake date to some event at the hospital tonight. We'd done this for each other before, and it wasn't difficult. Alice and I got along so well that pretending to be dating only barely registered as weird. I made a note to call her back later tonight. The second message wasn't so painless. As soon as I registered my mother's voice, I nearly dropped my phone in my hurry to delete the message. I smothered the pang of guilt I felt at so blatantly ignoring her on the bus ride home. I couldn't handle _that_ right now, not right after just dealing with Jessica.

Within five minutes of being home, I broke two glasses and viciously stubbed my toe on the kitchen table. Obviously too wired to stay in my apartment and pace before my fake date with Alice, I grabbed my mp3 player and running shoes, deciding to take out the stress on the pavement instead of my belongings. After pulling up a Jay-Z/Beatles mash-up as loud as I could stand, I started jogging, heading for Lake Calhoun and Uptown. By the time the album was almost over, I found myself pushing a little further, to the Lake of the Isles. I knew it was stupid, that of course Bella wouldn't be there, but that voice of logic didn't stop me.

I rounded the first curve around the lake, passing the old couples walking dogs and the speed walking moms, the warm weather bringing the people out of the woodwork to enjoy one of the city's many parks. I saw a woman up ahead, all alone, sitting on one of the benches that was tucked into the trees, facing the water. I tried not to let myself hope it was _her_, but I couldn't stop my mind from cataloguing her features as they came into view, comparing them to Bella's. I slowed to a walk as I approached her, noticing that she seemed to be vacillating between watching the line of baby ducks in the water and reading the book on her lap.

I took a chance.

"Bella?"

She turned around, her dark hair whipping around her face in the wind coming off the water. She put a hand up to her eyes, squinting at me. She looked as beautiful as ever, the setting sun turning the edges of her hair a burning gold.

"Edward?" she answered, smiling brightly.

I was so surprised that she was actually here, (and apparently happy to see me), that I said the very first thing that popped into my mind, which was a mistake.

"Come here often?"

Dammit.

She grinned again. Thank God. "You'd know, wouldn't you?"

"I guess I would," I managed, staring at my scuffed up shoes, and praying that a sinkhole would open up in the sidewalk and swallow me whole.

"So you're not following me, are you, Edward?" she teased, raising one eyebrow.

"Nope. I live sort of close by. This is a nice place to run," I explained, trying to sound remotely believable.

"How close is close, then?"

I wished she'd stop asking these questions. This was getting embarrassing.

"Ah, a few miles. Maybe eight." So yes, beautiful girl, I ran a really long ways to the only place I know you sometimes are- pure coincidence. Then I added, "I was planning to take the bus back home. This lake has nice trails." Unlike the hundreds of other lakes in this immediate vicinity. Right.

She smirked at me, and I felt my face heat up again. What was with her ability to do that? I hoped that the sweat I'd worked up thus far would cover it up, which reminded me that I was wearing my über-sexy, high school drama crew shirt. Shitty shit shit.

"Want to join me?" She asked, patting the empty space beside her on the bench.

Shocked, I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything remotely coherent or appropriate. I sat down as far away from her as the bench would allow, but that wasn't very far. Our shoulders were almost brushing. Even this hint of contact made me feel magnetically _pulled _toward her, my shoulder nearly on fire with some cheesy-as-shit tingles, as if my arm was greedy to make the acquaintance of the rest of her body. Because that didn't sound smarmy at all.

I noticed that she'd set down her book in the narrow space between us, something I didn't recognize. To distract myself from the tingles business, and curious, I asked, "So what are you reading?

"Oh, just something for class."

So she was a student. That would explain the pick-up address near campus, but she didn't look the part of the typical dorm-dwelling undergrad. I prayed that she wasn't a psych student- that would make even this innocuous conversation off limits.

"Yeah? What are you taking?" Fingers crossed.

"Just one poetry class; I've got to work a lot right now, so that's all I could fit in for now. At this rate, I guess I'll have my BA in….eight years." She smiled at me, chagrined.

"That's alright. I'm taking the slow route too," I offered, more relieved than I should have been.

"You're in school too?" she asked.

"Yeah, psychology grad program. What about you?"

"Literature, I think. But who knows. I've stopped and started so many times. I think I've got about half of six majors done." She looked embarrassed at this admission, as if I was going to judge her.

"I started off a premed, thinking I'd be a doctor like my father, but then I had a rather brutal run-in with organic chemistry, so that plan died an abrupt death. So it's the quasi-sciences for me. My parents are so proud." What was I even talking about?

"Psychology isn't quasi-science. No need for the false modesty- you've got to be doing alright to be in the grad program," she said, nudging me gently with her shoulder. More magnetic pulling. What the fuck?

"So what got you into cab driving?" she asked. "That's a fairly unusual part-time job."

"I just have an interest in people. You get to meet a lot of people you normally never would driving a taxi. That, and the tips are okay," I answered, leaving out the part where I tape record the random confessions, diatribes, and personal information people spew on me. I didn't think somebody as private as Bella would appreciate that bit of information.

She nodded, and we both just sat there for a quiet moment, staring at the water.

"So what about you? Where do you work?" I asked, returning her question.

She blushed before answering. "This bar downtown. I don't have to take my clothes off or anything, but it's not the classiest place." She looked like she wished she had her own sinkhole to swallow her up.

"Full of the usual assholes?" I added, trying to make her comfortable again.

"Oh yeah. You have no idea. The bright red daisy dukes don't help either." She shook her head, still blushing.

"Well, I may not have to wear short shorts, but I get the pleasure of meeting my share of assholes too. I'm sorry about your job," I offered, desperately wanting to find every dick that had made her that embarrassed and castrate them all.

She shrugged. "It's fine. I mean, it's _not_, but what are you going to do. It's close to my apartment, and like you said, the tips are good, and I need them."

"So do you have to work late- close the bar a lot?" I asked, imagining this small girl walking home alone, shoulders hunched, against the stream of drunken idiots. I cringed.

"Yeah. My dad sends me a bottle of pepper spray every Christmas though, so don't worry."

"Hm. Do you have to walk far?" I pried, not able to get that image of her alone out of my mind.

"Oh, not really. It's fine." She waved her hand, sounding a little irritated at my line of questioning. "I can take care of myself."

"I have no doubt about that," I assured her, trying to stifle this disturbingly urgent need to make sure Bella was always, always safe. She looked mollified.

"So. Best cabbie story of the week. Go."

"Hmm." I thought back on the week, picking out the highlights. "Got it. A woman in her seventies offered to pay for her fare in sexual favors, which she vividly described before I could force her out of the car."

She laughed, a bright, rich sound. "I take it you didn't take her up on her offer."

"No I didn't."

"And would it have made a difference if she didn't have dentures and possibly fossilized strands of herpes?"

"You mean if she was younger?"

She nodded.

"Absolutely not." I shivered in disgust.

"Okay, so even if she was a Victoria's Secret model, it wouldn't have made a difference?" she prodded.

"No," I answered assertively. And honestly. I wasn't a manwhore. And trading money for sex certainly always qualified as whoring.

"Wow."

"You don't believe me, do you?" I asked her.

"That's just it. I do, which is weird. It's just…you. I believe _you_." She shook her head in what looked like amazement.

"Huh. Not much faith in males, I take it?"

"No, pretty much none at all," she replied decisively.

"Which brings us back to your job, I think. What was your most memorable work moment of the week?"

She answered without missing a beat. "That would be when a table of frat guys asked for lap dances, then proceeded to stiff me on the tip when I, of course, refused. Then they followed me home, twenty feet behind, catcalling all the way. It was awesome." By the time she'd finished her rant, she looked like a fierce baby animal, maybe a baby lion. It would have been cute if I hadn't actually heard the last part of her speech. But I did.

"Excuse me, what? They followed you _home_?" I tried to keep my voice even.

"Yeah, I mean, it seems that they knew my, um, boyfriend. So they ended up coming up and hanging out with him for a while."

"Are you serious?" I deadpanned.

She looked away from me and nodded, the color returning to her face.

"That's completely ridiculous," I sputtered.

"…Yeah."

"Just out of curiosity, what night was that?" I asked, sure I knew the answer already.

She paused before muttering, "I guess it would have been the most recent night you picked me up."

"Right." I was fuming.

"Bella, does shit like that happen often?"

She didn't answer, her head still turned away.

"Bella?"

Staring at the ground, she answered in almost a whisper, "Listen, I don't need you to protect me. I know what they did was ridiculous. I can handle it."

"I believe you, it's just…it might just drive me crazy, knowing that you're dealing with that kind of fucked up shit. Nobody should have to deal with that."

Finally looking at me, she said in a dead voice, "And why, exactly, do you care?"

Not knowing the reason myself, I answered honestly. "I don't know."

She nodded, and stood up.

"Are you leaving?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I have to work tonight, actually." She avoided my eyes again.

"Okay, but can you please do something for me?" I reached into my shorts' back pocket for my wallet.

She didn't answer, but I plowed ahead anyway. "Please, just call me. For a ride. Wherever you want. After work, four in the morning, whenever." I didn't care how desperate I sounded. "Do you have a pen?"

She looked at me strangely before grabbing one out of her purse and handing it to me. I hurriedly scribbled my cell number of the back of an old receipt, the only paper I had in my wallet, and practically forced it into her hand.

She seemed to be searching my face, maybe looking for any trace of the assholes she normally had to deal with.

"Thanks, Edward. I….appreciate this. I do. I've got to go now though. It was nice talking to you. Hopefully I'll see you soon?"

"I hope so too, Bella."

And with that, she headed off toward the parking lot and the bus stop.

I stood there, watching her to make sure she caught her ride and was safely on her way, telling myself that this wasn't crossing a line. But it was.


End file.
